Happy Endings
by ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: Rumple claims Belle as his price in helping the town against the Evil Trio. Takes place post 4x11 "Heroes and Villains".
1. Chapter 1

My price is her.

The familiar words echo across the town square and Belle finds herself shoved into the spotlight.

Rumplestiltskin has been back in town for a week, but this is the closest she's been to him. When she first heard news of his arrival, Grumpy rushing into the diner in the middle of the dinner rush and shouting at the top of his lungs, she'd almost fainted from sheer relief.

It had been two months since the horrible night she'd banished him from town. Part of her had expected him to come back immediately. Rumplestiltskin was the most cunning man she'd ever known. Even powerless he couldn't be gone for long. But as the weeks stretched by, that certainty had given way to the overwhelming fear that she may never see him again. That perhaps he'd given up. She'd cried herself to sleep more often than not in those intervening weeks, thinking of him out in a strange world with nothing but the clothes on his back. She didn't regret her decision. It had been necessary for the safety of the town. But she was a big enough person to admit that her emotions had clouded her judgment. She'd been so angry, so hurt, so heartbroken, that she'd acted on impulse. The true ramifications of what she'd done didn't hit her until the weeks stretched on before her and the thought that she would never see him again truly set in.

But after the relief came the dread. She had done the one thing she'd promised she never would. She used the dagger against him, the true one this time. She'd forced him out, away from his home, his grandson, his child's grave. It was necessary, but she still felt the icy tendrils of guilt seize her gut. He would hate her, and despite it all, despite the fact that his power meant more to him than her, she still loved him so very much.

That fear was solidified when she had her first sighting of him. He was walking down the street when his eyes alighted on her. Her heart had stuttered to a stop in her chest, the desire to run to him overwhelming. But she held fast. His eyes had roamed over her face, desperate and longing. But then they'd hardened, all tenderness dissipating as he turned and walked away from her.

She spotted him again across the street a few nights ago. She'd been leaving the shop with Will, searching for ways to reunite him with his Ana. They'd had a bit of a breakthrough and Will had thrown his arms around her, hugging her in his gratitude. It was an innocent thing. Just a bit of affection between friends. But she knew Rumple wouldn't have seen it that way. From across the street she could see his mouth set in a firm line, his eyes hard. Then he'd disappeared in a blink of an eye.

That was the last time she'd seen him, until tonight. The newly arrived trio of witches had started wreaking havoc all over town. Maleficent had already gone head to head with Regina. Cruella was reportedly able to shapeshift into any creature whose pelt she acquired. Ruby had growled ferally at that revelation, and Archie had taken to keeping Pongo indoors. The full extent of Ursula's abilities had yet to be determined, but Regina had assured them she was a goddess with unfathomable power. Belle could still remember the feel of her tentacles wrapped around her neck, the threats of choking the life out of her ringing through her head.

Back then, Rumple had chosen her. But it was only temporary.

The combined brilliance of the Charming family had deduced that Rumple must have something to do with the trio's presence in town. David had been the one to suggest they confront him, find out what he wanted in exchange for his help against the sorceresses. And wasn't that the way of things? They always wanted his help, prepared to promise any price but affronted when he actually collected. They expected him to help yet treated him like an outcast. He'd died to save them all, watched Baelfire do to the same powerless to prevent it, and no one had cared.

Belle felt a stab of something like hatred for the heroes in this town, though she banished it quickly. She'd given up her true love, her happy ending, to protect them. No one had seemed to think that was much of a sacrifice, save Regina, who knew exactly what it was to send the man you love away. She never thought she'd feel closer to the Evil Queen than the rest of the miserable lot.

And so here they were, standing in front of Rumplestiltskin and asking his price. It was a scene so familiar it made her heart ache. The man before her wasn't covered in glittering golden scales, had traded in leathers for a crisp, tailored suit. Witches rather than ogres were the menace of the day. But it was still so much the same.

"My price is her," Rumple says, voice echoing across the square. Belle briefly wonders why these confrontations must take place so close to her library and the precious books within. One misplaced fireball is all it would take to ruin her safe space, her favorite place in town.

There is a shocked gasp throughout the assembled townspeople, as Rumple's long pointer finger finds her in the crowd. She's not sure why anyone should be surprised by this. He's claimed her as his price before.

In some rough parody of their first meeting, someone steps forward, blocking her from Rumple's view. She's moderately surprised to see it's the pirate.

"You can't have her, mate," Hook says, stretching one arm out protectively. And Belle wonders where that protective chivalry was when he shot her in the back. She's not disposed to think kindly of him, even if she did save his life.

"Then no deal," Rumple sneers, his eyes malicious as he takes in the sight of his old enemy standing in front of his wife. He thinks she stands against him, and that thought breaks her heart. Because Belle has always loved all of him, even the darkness. For him to believe she'd side with the pirate over her own husband, the betrayal he must feel. Belle is betrayed herself, but she can't let this stand.

"Wait," she calls, finding her voice at last. As if one body, the entire town turns to look at her. Rumple stares, his eyes wide with surprise though he schools his features quickly and no one but her would have caught it.

"Belle," Hook whispers harshly. "You can't do this."

Belle has always bristled at being told what to do, especially by someone who has never once shown an ounce of care for her person.

"So concerned for me, Captain?" she asks wryly.

"You saved my life," he mutters, as though every word costs him. "I owe you a debt."

"I'll say," she agrees, glad that the man has finally acknowledged this. Perhaps there's hope for him yet. "But this isn't the time to pay up."

"Belle," Emma says from behind Hook. "You don't have to do this. We'll find another way." At the Savior's side, Snow is glancing back and forth between Mr. and Mrs. Gold, her eyes wet with tears. If anyone in this crowd understands the power of true love, it's Snow. She knows what Belle will do.

"He's not the man he was," Emma continues. "He could hurt you."

Belle just shakes her head, Snow mimicking the motion.

"He won't hurt me," she assures them. "He loves me."

And she knows it's true. He's always loved her. It just wasn't enough.

"Yes, well he loved Milah once upon a time," Hook hisses. "Cora too. Tell me, where are they now?"

"Dead," Belle says simply. She knows what her husband is capable of. But she also knows he would never hurt her, not physically anyway.

Emma opens her mouth as if to protest again but is cut off by Regina.

"We are wasting time here," she interjects. "Let Belle make her own decision and let's get moving. Or have you all forgotten that my former best friend who currently hates me is capable of turning into a dragon and burning us all to a crisp where we stand?"

"Hard to forget that, sister," Leroy agrees.

"Make a decision, dearie," Rumple calls out, feigning unconcern at the town conference he's not privy to. "I haven't got all day." But that's a lie. He's cursed, immortal. He has all the time in the world. Regardless of what happened between them, they'd always be separated by that. Belle would grow old and die. Rumple wouldn't. He'd once told Lacey he could keep her young, but Belle would never ask for that. She wanted him to choose a life with her over the power.

"I'll go with you," she says, turning to look him in the eye once more. Something flares to life in those amber orbs and for a moment he's her husband again, the sadness and longing etched in every line of his face. And then the mask descends and he closes off once more.

He stretches out a hand to her and Belle walks forward to take it, a small sob escaping her lips at the feel of his skin on hers after all this time. He yanks her forward, wrapping his arm gently around her waist like he did in her father's war room all those years ago. His touch was foreign then, terrifying and exciting by turns. Now it is familiar and comfortable, and she finds herself melting into his side despite herself.

"Alright, you have your price," David calls out. "Now tell us what they want."

"The same thing we all want," Rumple replies, turning to look at Belle. There's such a storm of emotions in his eyes, seeing them this close. She sees hope and love, but also fear and anger. She's sure he can see a similar mix in her eyes. Without breaking their gaze he continues.

"A happy ending."


	2. Chapter 2

He is nervous.

It is so unexpected that Belle doesn't even realize it until after the town has left and they are alone for the first time. He hasn't been like this around her since the first days of their acquaintance, when everything was new and frightening, when he was still trying to convince her to believe in the mask and not the man behind it.

Rumple had given the Charmings key information about each of the three sorceresses weaknesses, an easy enough task when one has a gauntlet that shows such things. David, Snow, Emma, Regina, even Hook all rushed off after that, eager to put their new information to good use. Snow spared one last glance at Belle, giving her a short little nod before they left. The others, so concerned with her safety only moments ago, turned and left without so much as a backward glance. There were other things to occupy their minds now.

Rumple isn't looking at her, staring down at his feet and rubbing his fingers together in that nervous habit of his. He hasn't said a word to her since he dealt for her. She's not entirely sure he knows what to do next. He always seems to have a plan, except when it comes to her.

"Now what?" she ventures, and Rumple jumps at her intrusion, glancing up at her as though he's only just remembered her presence.

When he only continues to stare at her, she tries again.

"You wanted me, now you have me. What do we do now?"

It takes longer for the mask to descend this time, longer to put away his emotions and turn hard. But he manages it all the same.

"You're still my wife, dear," he says harshly. "Now we go home."

Belle has to suppress an eye roll. His posturing doesn't work on her, as he well knows. And anyway, they don't have a home. She has taken possession of both the salmon colored Victorian where Mr. Gold lived and the shop. She even has his car. Just where has he been living this past week?

"And where is that?" she asks.

"I've been staying at the cabin," he says shortly. "Seeing as you've commandeered my other properties…"

"We're married," she interrupts, wishing the words didn't make her flinch. "It's communal property."

There's not a chance she's letting him take her back to that cabin. It's the place they spent their wedding night, filled to bursting with fresh flowers and soft candlelight. It's the place they came together for the first time as husband and wife, when the world was a forgiving place and second chances a tangible thing. The last time she'd been there, she was filled with hope and completely secure in her husband's love for her. To go there now would break those memories, destroy them. She needs those memories unblemished if she's to carry on.

"Then I suppose home is our _estate_," he sneers. "Come along, little wife."

He clasps his hand around her waist and there is a swirl of smoke as the earth disappears beneath her. A second later they are in the living room of the house, exactly as she'd left it this morning, exactly as he'd left it two months ago. She hasn't done much living in that time.

"So how does this work?" she continues, when the purple storm of magic has dissipated and they are just two estranged people taking up too much of each other's space. Rumple drops his hand from her waist and steps away quickly.

There is anger inside her. He dealt for her, asked for her back, and she agreed to go with him. She thought, perhaps, he'd want to talk, discuss their relationship and how to move forward. But it appears he gave as little thought to his request this time as he had back in the Enchanted Forest. It's clear he has no clue what to do next.

"I'm not your prisoner," she can't help but land the blow. She knows he regrets how he treated her at the beginning of their acquaintance.

"Of course not," he snaps. "You're my _wife_." The word sounds acidic on his tongue. "My dearly beloved wife who would never betray me, who loves all of me, who made a promise, a deal, to be mine forever."

The words are sarcastic and bitter. The nervous energy that surrounded him earlier has disappeared as he draws closer, his face inches away from hers and fury in his eyes. He is angry with her, but more than that he's hurt. He is in pain, and she is the cause.

"Yes," she replies, with a voice that only trembles slightly. "I do love you. I've always loved you."

Rumple scoffs and pulls away, the sudden distance between them making her whole body cold. She'd worked so hard for so long to make him believe in her love and now it's gone. He can no longer see it.

"I love you enough to know that the man crushing Hook's heart, the man who trapped people in a hat, who would abandon everyone in town to die, is not the man you really are."

"Yes it is," he counters with a flourish, calling upon the mannerisms that served him so well in the past. "You just never wanted to see it. I fooled myself into believing you really cared for me, but you never have. You love an idealized version of me, a man who will never exist. You set me up to fail and I was so fucking desperate for you that I let it happen."

Belle isn't sure what to say to counter that so she just shakes her head. He isn't perfect, he is filled with darkness and hatred and hurt, but she knows that decent man exists. She's seen it shine through time and time again. At the town line, when she banished him, she'd thought perhaps she'd been wrong. The power and the magic overwhelmed him, but the good man is still there. He has to be, or her entire adult life has been a lie.

Rumple scoffs again at the shake of her head, at her determination to always see the good in him even when it's buried so deeply she questions if it's really there.

He turns away from her, slamming his hand against the bookshelf set into one wall. Several books rattle off the shelf to clatter against the floor and she has to restrain herself from rushing to pick them up.

"Are you going to hurt me?" She already knows the answer to that question, but she wonders if he does. He turns to face her and there is a flicker of something in his eyes, something like fear. For the first time, she wonders how much his curse affects him, if he is a slave to it as he once was to Zelena. It's funny that she'd never thought of it that way before, expecting him to change without understanding the nature of the horrible thing that drives him.

"Are you afraid of me?" he answers her with a question of his own.

"No," she replies truthfully. She's never feared him. Even when he ranted and raged, when he threw her in a dungeon and smashed his castle to bits, she knew he'd never hurt her. He'd locked her away safely before he flew into a rage. He doesn't trust himself with her and he never has. Is that why he lied so completely and so often in their short marriage? He didn't trust her either, not to stay with him if she saw him at his worst.

"Belle," he rasps out, his voice cracking on the word. It's the first time he's said her name since he returned. He doesn't seem to know what to say after that, her name hanging in the air between them.

"We need to talk," she agrees, though he hasn't said it in as many words. "About everything, even the things you don't want to talk about. Especially the things you don't want to talk about."

"I wanted to talk that night at the town line," he reminds her. "You had no interest then."

"Because you only wanted to placate me," she counters. "You wouldn't have been honest. You made so many mistakes since our wedding, but I did too. You were hurting and I didn't…" she stutters to a stop, a lump in her throat choking her words.

He steps closer toward her, his hand jerking out as if to reach for her before falling limply at his side. This is strange and unusual and neither of them know the rules. They've never been this tense around each other, this uncertain. Even when she was his maid, chipping his cups and calling his bluffs, they were never this awkward. Is he allowed to touch her? Can you seek comfort in the arms of the one who wronged you?

Belle realizes with a sense of shame that she's not strong enough for this. She's tried so hard tonight, she stood with the town and watched her husband, always the outcast, demand her in payment for his help. She agreed to go with him on her own terms, a man who destroyed her faith in true love. She is here, alone with him, hurting and angry and guilty. And she can do no more tonight.

"It's late," she says, glancing down at the floor and feeling every inch a coward.

"Then go to bed," he sighs, relief slumping his shoulders. He wants out of this conversation as much as she does. They will try again tomorrow.

She wishes more than anything that the past two months had never happened. If it had been two months ago, she would have taken his hand and lead him upstairs to _their_ bed. He would have wrapped her in his arms and held her close, any and all problems fading into the background as she basked in the knowledge that she loved and was loved in return. But the memory sours as she wonders how long he waited until after she was asleep to steal away and meet with the Snow Queen under cover of darkness. How often did he leave her in bed to do dark deeds with Hook as his unwilling lackey? Did he keep the pirate's heart close by at all times? Was it in the room when he loved her? The thought makes her stomach clench and bile rise up the back of her throat.

And she hates herself for thinking that if she could forget all that, she would. If she could curl up in Rumple's arms and take solace in his body, she would. The knowledge makes her cringe and doubt her heart. Is she a hero? Heroes shouldn't be so weak, so easy to manipulate.

"And where will you…" she starts before she can stop herself.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my distance."

His words are a reassurance that he won't take any liberties. That just because she is still his wife, he won't press his advantage. Does he honestly believe she fears that? The thought that he'd do such a thing hasn't even entered her mind. Her fears are for quite the reverse. That she would allow him in her bed, despite everything, just to make the hurt lessen ever so slightly. Even though it would do far more harm than good.

No, he is not a monster. And she is not a hero. They are both just broken.

She turns and heads for the stairs, her tail between her legs. But before she reaches them, she realizes there is one more question she must ask.

"Why did you want me here?" she asks, turning at the foot of the stairs to gaze back into the darkened living room. He is merely a shadow, a dark shape in the light of a single lamp.

"I should think that was obvious," he says, his voice calm and even. "You're my happy ending."

The words lance through Belle's heart. Because if this is an ending, it certainly isn't happy.


	3. Chapter 3

She cannot recall the last time they kissed, and it is that thought more than any other that keeps her from sleep.

Before, when he was dead, she had recalled each kiss, each tender touch, with stunning clarity. It had been a balm in the dark, cold nights without him. She had the comfort of knowing that she had loved him and he had known the extent of her love. She doesn't have that luxury now, unable to remember any small detail of the real last kiss. Life is funny that way. There have been kisses she thought were the last, despite outward shows of optimism. The last time he kissed her before leaving for Neverland, she was all but sure she'd never feel his lips against hers again. But whatever small, unremarkable peck was truly their last kiss is lost to her memory.

Despite being back in her own bed in her own home, everything feels foreign. The man who sleeps across the hall is both familiar and a stranger and it tears at her heart until she's afraid there will be nothing left. She accepted this deal, to go with him forever, but forever stretches out longer and further than it ever has before. What kind of eternal torment is living forever with a man you love but cannot trust? A man who you cannot trust yourself around? Will they ever move forward or will the rest of her life be spent in tense silences and looks of betrayal across the breakfast table?

She is hurt and so is he, but they cannot comfort each other. Because now she knows how easily he can lie to her, and he knows how easily she can break a promise.

Loving Rumplestilstkin has never been easy, but it's never felt quite this hard. The odds have never felt so insurmountable. What is death, amnesia or being separated by realms when you have true love? It is nothing. But what happens when your head doubts your heart? What happens when you lose your faith?

Belle kicks off the covers and paces around the master bedroom. His things are still here. She didn't have the heart to remove his pressed suits from the closet or his toothbrush from beside the bathroom sink. She surrounded herself with his presence, as penance for what she'd done or as a reminder to herself of how easily she was manipulated, she cannot be certain. But now she wishes she had thrown it all out.

She had no choice, she tells herself. She did this for the good of the town. It was a selfless act, like her first deal with him so many years ago. She did the heroic thing.

But Belle knows it's a lie. This time, she wanted to go with him. She doesn't deserve a happy ending and neither does he. Their only end is this, a never ending purgatory, lashed to each other but unable to connect. The optimism that has seen her through the dark years of her life has evaporated like fog in the morning sun.

She cannot stay here, surrounded by him and yet apart. So she slips out of her bedroom on tiptoe, hoping she doesn't wake him, and makes her way downstairs to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Her mother once said all troubles could be solved with a cup of tea, but for the first time her mother's wisdom doesn't give her peace.

* * *

><p>He cannot sleep.<p>

This is hardly surprising considering that Belle, beautiful, terrible, maddening Belle, is asleep just across the hall. Rumplestiltskin rolls over and stares at the papered wall of the guest bedroom. He's never slept in here before. He'd meant to, the first night Belle had come back to him, the day Emma broke the curse. He'd settled her comfortably in his bedroom, intent on giving her space and sleeping on the guest bed.

But Belle had clung to him, looking at him with those big, beautiful, blue eyes and blushing prettily as she asked him to stay with her. She said she'd spent thirty years sleeping alone, and she didn't want to go another night without him. So he'd wrapped his arms around her and held her close until her eyes drifted shut. Then he'd made a silent promise that she'd never have to sleep alone again.

Of course, they've been apart more often than not in the years since that night. Only a few short weeks later he'd fucked everything up and she'd moved out. Once they were on their way back to each other, the pirate had shot her and she'd lost her memories. Then they had only moments together before he abandoned her for Neverland. After that, Belle slept alone for an entire year, thinking he was dead and then imprisoned by that witch.

He had broken that promise and a thousand others. But then, so had she.

Belle promised never to use the dagger against him. He had trusted her. If he can't trust Belle with his weakness, he is truly alone.

But despite it all, he still wants her. He still loves her. She says that she loves him, but he knows the truth of that sentiment now. She loves an idea, the man she thinks he could be. But she will not debase herself to wallow in the mud where he lies. She will always be on a pedestal and he will never reach her.

That is why he must find the author. To rewrite history or change their ending, he's not sure. But the distance between them now is too great. He cannot begin to bridge it, so he must find someone who can.

Rumplestiltskin has never been a good sleeper. A life filled with too many regrets makes it elusive. The last truly good night's sleep he had was the night he'd returned from Neverland. He'd had Belle at his side, coming together for the first time since before she'd been shot. He'd had the love and forgiveness of his son. It had been the happiest night of his life. He had rested easy, Belle curled up against him and his only child safe and happy in the same town. But good things have never lasted for Rumple. Villains don't get happy endings, so his had been ripped away. He'll never have his happy ending, not truly, not with Baelfire gone. He'd thought he still had a shot at one with Belle, but that's been stripped away as well. Now his only hope is the author.

He'd sneered at Regina when she'd told him her plan thinking he was master of his own fate. But even if that's true he obviously can't be trusted with the burden. If a happy ending is written for him, he and Belle can be together. He can have his power and his magic and his love all at the same time. He can separate from the dagger, his weakness, and give himself over completely to Belle, his strength. He has to believe it's possible. He will make it possible.

His mind is running a million miles per minute making sleep even more impossible, so he gets up, stretching out the newly healed leg that had so pained him in the world without magic. It's the constant reminder of his failures, his cowardice, his mistakes. He hasn't healed it completely. Only made it functional. It still pains him. He needs the reminder of what he truly is; a villain, not worthy of a happy ending unless he takes it by force.

He sneaks out of the guest room with quiet steps, doing his best not to wake Belle across the hall. He doesn't want to disturb her, doesn't want to inflict his presence on her any more than he already has. He doesn't want to see the pain and sadness in her eyes. He doesn't want to forgive her, though he knows he already has. He clings to his righteous anger because it's easier than the accepting the pain of her choice, that he hurt her so deeply she thought she had no other option.

There's a light on in the kitchen and he hears movement. Rumplestiltskin freezes, considering whether or not he should dash back upstairs and hide from her, his little wife. But for once, he doesn't do the cowardly thing. He asked for her to come with him. It's time to do what he set out to.

Belle gasps as he turns the corner and almost drops the kettle of hot water she's holding.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks with an arched eyebrow. To her credit, Belle recovers quickly, pouring water into the teapot and placing the kettle back onto the burner. She busies herself so she doesn't have to look at him, moving about the kitchen as if she owns the place. He supposes she did while he was away. Both times.

Finally she comes back to stand at the counter, glancing down at the tea as it steeps.

"I made tea," she says, rather uselessly. As though he hasn't just watched her do it. "Do you want some?"

"Sure," he replies. And why not? Their relationship was founded on her serving him tea. It was one of the only things she actually managed to do as his maid. He's never been able to perfect a cup quite the way she has and he's missed it. A simple thing to miss about a person, they way they brew tea.

She reaches for the chipped cup from the cupboard, their cup. She's halfway through preparing his tea before she seems to realize what she's done. Then she stops, staring down at the inoffensive piece of crockery as though it holds all the mysteries of the universe.

The cup has become their symbol, the chipped but never broken talisman that represents their love. Rumplestilstkin has the overwhelming urge to smash it against the far wall and crush the pieces into powder. That's what she's done to his heart.

But he cannot. He never could. Even when he thought she'd betrayed him to Regina he couldn't bring himself to harm her cup. It's more than he can say for the harm he's inflicted on her.

"Belle," he says, cursing the way his voice breaks on the simple word. "I…I am sorry."

He didn't expect to apologize, but now that he's said the words, it feels right. They've both made mistakes. There's no pretending he's not at fault, though she is as well.

She finally looks up from the cup, her eyes haunted.

"I'm sorry too," she says, her bottom lip quivering. She sinks her perfect little white teeth into the tender flesh to stop it, to hide her weakness. He hates what that simple motion does to him, the memories it calls to his mind.

Before he can stop himself, he's taken two large steps toward her until she's close enough to touch. He can feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her pajamas, see the strain in her eyes as she looks up at him.

As if in a trance, he reaches a hand out, trailing whisper soft fingertips against her cheek.

"Belle," he says again, for he has no clue what else he can say.

And then she's rising up on her tiptoes, her lips scant inches away from his. If he only leant forward a hair, he could capture her lips with his own, taste her for the first time in so many months. They could go back, pretend it was all just a nightmare and that everything is perfect between them. They could be happy if they only could forget.

"Stop," she shudders when he's merely a breath away. Her words are like ice, freezing him in place.

Her eyes slip closed, a single tear clinging to her dark eyelashes before spilling down her cheek. It takes every ounce of self control he possesses not to reach out and wipe it away. He has lost the right to comfort her and she doesn't deserve it anyway. But it still tears at him to see her cry.

"We can't," she says, stepping back, away from him.

"I know," he agrees, though he doesn't want to. He wants to make her forget. He can. He knows exactly how and where to touch her to have her screaming his name, lost to everything but the pleasure. But she doesn't want that, and he'd never do such a thing against her will.

"It would only make things worse," she continues, and he nods. She's right. Their relationship is complicated enough right now without muddling the lines further. They are not allowed to touch each other, to love each other. Not when they're both still so broken.

"I don't trust you anymore," she says with a shake of her head. "What is a relationship without trust? We have nothing to build on."

"I don't trust you either," he admits.

"Good," she chokes out in a tiny sob. "You shouldn't. Just look what I was capable of."

"You did what you thought was necessary," he snarls. He knows her intentions were good. He knows she is a hero who will always make the hard sacrifices. But it still stings that she valued the good of the town over him. He would let them all burn to save her. He was prepared to.

He's surprised when she shakes her head.

"No," she says. "I didn't want you to murder, that's true. But I wanted you to hurt like I was. I've been beaten and bloodied. I've been shot in the back. I've been imprisoned for years on end and none of that, not Hook or Regina or anyone else, has hurt me the way you have."

Her words make him want to dissolve into the tiles of the kitchen floor, to disappear. He is not worth the breath she uses to cut him down. He is nothing. Not for the first time he wishes he would have stayed dead. And perhaps some small part of him blames her for that as well, because he cannot blame Baelfire. If they had left him be, none of this would have happened.

"Well congratulations," he mutters, not able to look at her blindingly blue eyes, the ones that used to see him so adoringly and now see only the monster. "You succeeded."

The tears start up again, spilling across Belle's pale cheeks. Every one that falls feels like a cut into his flesh, her pain is his.

"There's no hope for us is there?" she stutters out. "This is it?"

She's lost it, he realizes, that light that was so integral to who she was. It survived so much but he's finally managed to snuff it out. She has lost all hope.

"The author," he says. There's no point in keeping secrets from her now. Not when everything has been laid bare and she's finally seen him for what he is. "Our ending has yet to be written."

"Is that your grand plan?" she scoffs. "Find the author of a storybook? And what then? We've made our choices, Rumple. There's no going back. Happy endings must be fought for…"

"Like I fought?" he interrupts, his ire rising that she could still be so blind. "I fought and died, Belle. I did the heroic thing. I sacrificed myself for you and Bae and Henry and the rest of this miserable fucking town and what did it get me? My son is dead! I lost everything, my child, my freedom, my very dignity."

"You lost everything?" Belle repeats sadly. "You hadn't lost me. I was still here and I tried, Rumple. I tried so hard to be everything but I wasn't enough."

"You didn't try," he lashes out. "You pretended everything was fine in the hopes that it would be. But nothing will ever be fine again because my son is dead."

"And I'm sorry for that," she cries, taking a hesitant step toward him. "I loved Neal too. I miss him too. But that doesn't give you leave to destroy everyone else."

"I had to be rid of that dagger, Belle! As long as I'm tied to it, no one is safe. Not you, or Henry, or any future child we would have had. Do you know what it's like to not have control over your own body? To have no choice but to do the bidding of a madwoman? She wanted me to kill you, she would have made me kill you like she killed Baelfire. I will not experience that kind of helplessness ever again!"

He stops, his breathing ragged. He hadn't meant to say all of that, but maybe it's necessary. Belle was blind to his pain but it's his fault as well. He didn't let her in, didn't let her know how deeply he was affected.

"Why couldn't you have told me all of that months ago?" she asks in a small voice.

"Because I was afraid of losing you."

Belle lets out a manic little giggle, crossing her arms against her chest protectively.

"You lost me because you weren't honest with me, Rumple. If you had told me there was a way to break the control of the dagger don't you think I would have done anything to help you? We would have found a way that didn't require hurting anyone. I would have fought for you like I always have."

Rumple just shakes his head.

"I thought you'd want to break my curse," he admits. To Belle it would seem so simple. She could kiss him and be done with it. But he'd be powerless without his magic. Years ago, he'd needed it to find Baelfire, and he still needed it now. He wasn't sure who he was without it, but he didn't want to find out.

"I don't see how you have a happy ending with it," she agrees. "You're more than the magic, Rumple."

"I don't think I am," he whispers harshly, his voice cracking over the words like kindling, like so much straw that could catch fire and burn away in an instant.

"Well now we'll never know," she says in that same defeated tone.

The implication of her words cut through his chest like his dagger. She thinks they're no longer true love, and she's probably right. True love requires a faith neither of them has anymore. True love requires more than what they are. It is only in that moment that Rumplestiltskin realizes what has really happened. In his quest for more magic, he lost the most powerful magic of all and there's no getting it back.

"Belle," he calls, but she's already slinking out of the kitchen back toward the stairs. She doesn't look back and he has nothing to say to reassure her if she did.

He glances down at the now cold tea in the chipped cup, and he flings it across the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning: This fic is now rated Mature. Also, hahahaha, angst. **

**This story won Best Post-Ep Fic at The Espenson Awards! Thank you lovely people for nominating/voting for this fic! I am absolutely honored and thrilled.**

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><p>Somehow, Belle manages to sleep.<p>

The sound of breaking china had chased her back up the stairs to her bedroom and she collapsed onto the bed in her grief. The sobs wracked her body and for once she didn't care if Rumple heard. He had shattered their cup, the thing that he'd guarded so preciously for decades. And isn't that a fitting end. They are not True Love and the cup resembles their relationship more now shattered on the kitchen floor than it did in its chipped state.

She doesn't know how, but her tears eventually tapered off and she fell into a restless sleep, waking the next morning with an aching head and bleary eyes.

She doesn't want to see Rumple this morning. She hopes that perhaps he's left for the shop already, but she is not so lucky when she comes down the stairs to find him seated in the kitchen, the smell of strong coffee and slightly burnt toast in the air.

"Good Morning," Rumple says coldly without looking up from his newspaper. Gone is the man who'd almost kissed her in this very same kitchen the night before, the man who'd apologized, who'd shared his agony over his lost child. It was all too little too late and she'd walked out on the conversation. He'd smashed her cup and apparently all hopes of reconciliation along with it.

Her hopes hadn't been high to start with.

She doesn't say anything in return, just slips into the kitchen as quietly as possible, pouring herself a cup of coffee and taking a fortifying sip of the dark brew. She hates the stuff. She never managed to develop a taste for it and much prefers tea, but the idea of getting down a teacup from the cabinet turns her stomach.

"I thought we might take this morning to establish the terms," he continues, still not looking up at her.

"Terms?" she asks, setting down her coffee mug and bracing her hands against the kitchen island.

"Of our deal," Rumple clarifies.

"What, am I not allowed to go to work?"

"Of course you are," he snaps, finally looking up at her, his eyes blazing. "These rules have more to do with your personal life, rather than professional."

Now Belle is truly confused, looking at him with a blank expression.

"You're still my wife. As such I expect you to be faithful to me as hard as you might find that to be."

Belle reels back as if she's been slapped. She's never been unfaithful, never wanted to be. He's the only man she's ever desired and the implication otherwise makes her head spin, her chest constrict.

"What..." she gasps out, but Rumple continues speaking over her.

"Clearly I don't anticipate your affections, but you're not to give them elsewhere either."

"What are you talking about?" she demands, finding her voice at last.

"I understand you've been keeping company with Mr. Scarlet while I've been away," he says, his eyes dropping down to the counter in front of him to mask the glimmer of hurt she sees pass over his eyes.

And does the stupid bastard actually think she's been carrying on with Will? That she banished the man she'd thought was her True Love, her husband, and immediately picked up with the first man she came in contact with? Has his opinion of her really fallen so low?

The simple answer is yes, and she feels the anger simmering beneath her breastbone, threatening to erupt at any moment. For all the tears and anger she's experienced since last night, it hasn't boiled over, not yet. But now the dam is threatening to burst.

"What of it?" she asks, defiantly. "Why is it any concern of yours whose _company_ I keep?"

His hand spasms around the newspaper in his grip, crumpling the corner in his fist. He is holding on to his temper, she can see, and the anger burning in her gut wants an outlet. She wants a fight, wants him to hurl insults at her. She wants to hate him because it would be so much easier than the love that she still feels in the depths of her being, the love that she can no longer express.

"It is my concern," he says levelly, his voice quiet with barely contained rage, "because you and I made a deal. I help this miserable little town and you go back to being my wife. That means you don't get to fuck other men, _dearie_."

It is the use of that word, a judgment disguised as an endearment, more than anything else that snaps her. He hasn't called her that in years, not since the earliest days of their acquaintance when she was his maid and he was trying so hard to pretend that's all she was.

"You lost the right to comment on anything I do when you proposed to me with a fake dagger," she hurls vindictively.

He stands up so suddenly that his stool skitters across the floor, slamming to the ground violently behind him. Belle flinches back at the noise.

"So that's what this is," he says, rounding the island and standing in front of her. "You're trying to punish me for my sins? As if you hadn't done that enough when you banished me from town with only the clothes on my back?"

"What else could I do?" she cries. "You were completely deranged! You would have done irredeemable things if I hadn't stopped you."

"And now you're parading around town with that half witted thief to what, drive home the fact that I've completely lost you? Trust me, Belle, I don't need the reminder."

She suddenly finds herself trapped, the counter to her back and her husband pressing closer at her front until his body is only a breath away, his hands gripping the counter on either side of her and his snarling face lowered to her eye level. Still she feels no fear. He won't hurt her, no matter how far she pushes him. An altogether different feeling from fear settles in her lower belly, her heart hammering in her chest not from dread but from excitement.

She swallows, licking her bottom lip convulsively, Rumple's eyes drawn to the motion. And it is that, the quick flicker of his eyes to her lips that shatters their barely tethered control.

She grabs on to the lapels of his suit jacket at the same moment his hands seize on to her hips and suddenly his mouth is on hers, fierce and possessive, the kiss bruising and breathtaking in its intensity.

Her hands slide up his chest to tangle in his hair, pulling at the soft tresses harder than she ever dared before. Rumple grunts, gripping her by the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up so she's sitting on the countertop, her legs immediately locking around his waist and drawing him ever closer.

This is wrong, so wrong. They shouldn't be doing this. They have millions of things to talk about, so many issues to wade through. But right now all she cares about is the way his tongue feels sliding against hers, the feel of his teeth sinking in to her lower lip, his hands roaming over her back and pulling at her clothes.

He pulls his mouth away from hers with effort, trailing hot, wet kisses down the column of her throat. She throws her head back to give him easier access, moaning as his hands come up to cup her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples through the fabric of her blouse.

She can feel him, hard and insistent between her legs and she rolls her hips against him, craving the friction through the thin barrier of her tights and underwear. Rumple lets out a hiss, his hands reaching under her skirt and yanking at her tights so hard that they rip. She can't find it in her to care and Rumple continues tearing at them until there's not much left but shreds of opaque black fabric and there's nothing between his hand and her sex but the thin, simple cotton of her panties. They aren't sexy. She hasn't had any need for alluring undergarments recently. But when Rumple nudges the crotch of her underwear aside and slips two fingers into her wet heat she assumes he doesn't mind.

She lets out a high, thin little whine that he stops with his mouth, kissing her again while his fingers stroke in and out of her. She hasn't felt his touch in months and now she's liable to break at any moment at the reminder of what she'd been missing. Her hands grip on to his shoulders, her hips moving against his hand and her mind blissfully empty of any complex thought for the first time in what seems like forever.

She grabs at his belt, tearing the leather from the strap and pulling open his trousers with frantic hands. She has no thought left for stopping this, for ending things before they are endlessly complicated by a stupid, impulse decision. All she knows is that her body craves his, as it always has. All she knows is that she hates him and loves him. There is no passivity, no dearth of emotion. She can only feel for him with all of herself and it is so confusing that she wants him buried inside of her in the hopes of some sort of clarity. Words have failed them, maybe action will speak louder.

Rumple pulls his fingers from her body and she whimpers at the emptiness she feels. But a moment later his fingers have been replaced by the blunt head of his cock stroking through her folds and making her whole body shiver at the sensation. He doesn't hold back, doesn't prolong things, just thrusts up inside her in one powerful stroke that has her gripping onto him for dear life, one hand tangled in his hair and the other gripping onto his arm so tightly that she'll probably leave bruises.

Then he freezes, the two of them staring at each other, almost nose to nose. They are both breathing hard, panting, gulping in the same air. A change comes over Rumple's face, his eyes softening as they roam her face reverently. He kisses her once more, but it's no longer fevered and hard, it is almost tender. Sweet, sipping kisses that bely the actions of their lower bodies as he pulls out nearly all the way before slamming back in to her with enough force to steal her breath away.

She cannot handle his tenderness. Not now, when everything leading up to this moment was so wrong. The aching softness with which he cups her face, stroking her cheek as he kisses her is enough to break her if she lets it. She pulls away, burying her face against his neck and tightening her legs around his hips, urging him on. She cannot look at him and as much as her body craves release, she only wants this to end.

His breathing is coming raggedly against her cheek, his hips snapping against hers, and she knows he won't last much longer. He wedges a hand between them, his thumb pressing against her right above where they're joined and she feels the pressure building in spite of herself. She shuts her eyes and grits her teeth as her release washes over her, light bursting behind her eyelids and her thighs clamping around her husband's hips. His thrusts become more erratic, fast and shallow, and he spills himself inside her with a rush of warmth that sends another shiver down her spine.

He lets out a long rush of breath, slumping against her and bracing his weight against the kitchen counter. Her legs slip from their position around his waist, but she keeps her head buried against his neck. She cannot bear to look at him, but she can't let him go yet either. She just breathes in the familiar scent of him, basks in the warmth of his body, because she knows this cannot happen again. She knows this indiscretion has just pushed them so far back that any progress they may have made the night before is dead and buried. She wishes things could be simple, that love was enough, that there was no such thing as magic or curses and they were ordinary people in a dull world.

But despite the magic she finds herself constantly surrounded by, her wishes never seem to come true.

After a long moment that feels all too short, Rumple pulls away from her, slipping from her body with a wet, obscene sound. He looks up at her, his eyes wild, taking in her kiss swollen lips, her ripped tights, her wrinkled skirt bunched around her hips where she sits on their usually pristine kitchen counter. He looks vaguely horrified, backing up and tucking himself away, buttoning his trousers.

"I...I," he stammers out, one trembling hand reaching out toward her before dropping back to his side. "I'm sorry. I have to go. Forgive me."

He looks everywhere but her face, glancing around the kitchen as if it will hold some answer for him. Then he straightens his jacket and heads out of the room, his hair still mussed and lipstick smeared on his collar. A moment later she hears the front door slam behind him as he flees this mistake.

She drags herself off the counter, her legs weak and unsteady beneath her. She can feel his seed, his mark on her, sliding down the inside of her thighs and she collapses to the kitchen floor. She'd thought she'd cried out all her tears the night before, but a new wave starts now leaving her gasping for air, feeling used and hurt and worse than she's ever felt before. She has no right to feel this way. She used him, not the other way around. She wanted to provoke him and look where it lead.

She is cold on the tile floor of the kitchen. She wishes more than anything that Rumple would come back and hold her, stroke her back and let her cry for everything they've lost. But she's driven him away.

Making love to Rumple had never been anything but a joyous experience. From their first fumbling times together after she was released from her basement prison to the skill they'd found with each other during their marriage, each memory was a cherished one. Now they've ruined that. And why is it that his tender kisses, the look of sheer love in his eyes when he took her hurts worst of all?

She pulls her knees up to her chest, burying her face against her ripped tights and wishing so hard that things would get better. But Belle's wishes never seem to come true.


	5. Chapter 5

**judymulder prompted: One night Rumple has a horrible nightmare where Zelena orders him to kill Belle, painfully and slowly. He wakes up in absolute terror and transport himself to where Belle is sleeping. Rumple knows he is invading her personal space but he needs to touch her and to feel she is fine, and alive. What ensues, is up to you ;)**

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><p>The next few weeks prove to be some of the worst of Belle's life. Despite living in the same house with Rumple, she's never felt so isolated, so alone.<p>

He's barely been able to look at her since the incident in the kitchen. When she was finally able to drag herself off the kitchen floor, she cleaned up and headed to the library as if it were any other day. But there was precious little else that felt the same.

It was almost as if something had shifted in the air. The townspeople were giving her a wide berth, avoiding her eyes on the street, mothers holding their children close as she passed.

They no longer trust her, she realized. In the eight weeks Rumple was gone, they had started to accept her, see her as more than just the Dark One's wife. But they do not trust Rumple and, by extension, her. Even though she'd gone with him to help the town, they scorn her. She feels an all new sympathy for Rumple. It was the same for him after he sacrificed himself to save the town. No one will ever offer thanks.

No one came to Belle's library that day, the first of many.

In the weeks following she and Rumple's new deal, no one much talks to her. The only one who ventures to the library is Will, though she shoos him out as quickly as she can. She knows Rumple will not harm her. She does not have the same confidence in Will's wellbeing. It's a horrible thought, that Rumple would hurt her friend. It makes her stomach twist that she could even imagine such a thing. But her faith in Rumple has been shaken. He is not the man she thought he was, the man she's sure he was.

In her weeks of solitude, Belle begins to think about all the things that had lead them to this place. She'd spent so much of her time between Rumple's banishment and his reappearance trying _not _to think about him. But she allows herself to do so now, in the dead of night, lying in her cold bed while her estranged husband sleeps right across the hall.

That first night of their new deal, the night he'd shattered her cup, he'd finally told her the truth. Baelfire's death, his enslavement, the constant fear that someone would use the dagger on him again, would force him to kill her, had driven him to desperate measures to cleave himself from the dagger. It suddenly makes so much more sense that he would be reticent to relinquish the real dagger to her. In the end, not even she could be trusted not to use it. She'd had good intentions when she'd commanded him to bring her to the Snow Queen's lair, certainly. But as Rumple often says, intent is meaningless. She'd had equally good intentions when she stopped his hand from crushing Hook's heart. But her intentions at the town line were less noble. Perhaps she should have let him explain himself. Perhaps she should have commanded him to go home and not use magic. She'd acted rashly. She can admit that now.

But she hadn't wanted the blasted thing in the first place. She'd tried to give it back. Why had he given it to her if he'd never trusted her with the real thing? Was it all just to cover for killing Zelena? Had he wanted to surrender it to her but lost his nerve?

The questions haunt Belle's every waking moment but she has not the strength nor inclination to ask them of Rumple. He moves like a ghost through the house, disappearing for long hours at the shop and returning home after she's gone to bed. She hears him, his steady footsteps walking down the hall in the middle of the night. Sometimes she imagines she can hear him pause outside her bedroom door, but there is never a knock, never a crack of light from the hallway spilling into the room as he peeks in. He leaves her alone and she's never felt more afraid for her future. Because this nightmare is not how she wants to spend the rest of her life.

But she made a deal. She will live in this endless purgatory. It is her penance.

Until one night everything changes. She is lying in her bed, the moonlight spilling in through her bedroom window, illuminating the remnants of her tattered life. Rumple has moved most of his things into the guest bedroom, but there are still traces of him here. There would always be traces of him, even if she had never seen him again. His handprints are on her heart, her very soul, and she cannot rid herself of them no matter how much she tries. She will always love him in spite of the lies, in spite of her broken heart. True Love is as much a curse as anything else.

She hears his footsteps, as she has many sleepless nights. They pause outside her bedroom, but only for a fraction of a moment before the door is thrown open. Rumple is framed in the doorway looking panicked, his eyes wild. His hair is mussed from sleep, his blue silk pajamas hanging on his thin frame. He must not be eating. She hadn't noticed.

She sits up, clutching the sheets to her chest despite the modesty of her flannel pajamas.

"Belle," he croaks, his voice unsteady in the dark room. "You're real? You're alive?"

The words are familiar, but said under much different circumstances. She cannot imagine what has prompted them now. She opens her mouth to answer but before she can, her husband stumbles forward toward the bed. He reaches out for her, gripping her shoulder in his hand.

She does not flinch away.

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><p><em>It is dark and cold, like it always is in his cage. Once upon a time he didn't feel the cold, was impervious to the elements. His magic had always insulated him, but now it is his magic that holds him hostage. His magic has turned on him. <em>

_Rumplestiltskin huddles in the corner of his cage, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. A smattering of straw is his only barrier to the freezing cement beneath him. The cage is small. He is not a tall man and he can only just stand in it. There isn't enough room to lay down, so he sits in his corner, back pressed against the chicken wire that traps him. He sits and he seethes, hating her, hating himself, hating the magic that courses through his veins but refuses to do his bidding. It only answers to her now, her and that blasted dagger. _

_He wishes he could sleep. If he could sleep, perhaps he'd see her face, his Belle._

_But no, he cannot think of Belle, not here. If Zelena thinks it worth her while she will rip Belle away from him just as she did Bae. There is nothing he can do, there is no fight left in him. If he obeys, she'll have no reason to retaliate. If he obeys, Belle will be safe. _

_The thought is a small comfort in this dank cellar. Rumple can just see the puffs of his own breath condensing in the cold air through the pale dawn light the comes through the cracks in the cellar door. His limbs are shaking violently and he curls into himself even more, the ragged suit jacket he died in doing little to shield him from the elements._

Belle is alive. Belle is alive. Belle is alive.

_As long as he obeys she will remain so. His suffering seems a small price to pay in exchange for that. _

I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead.

_The words have run through his head often in the past year. If he'd stayed dead and buried, his boy would be alive. If he'd stayed dead, he wouldn't have to fear that Belle would face the same fate. _

_There is a groan of metal against wood and Rumple flinches back, eyes watering at the sudden flood of sunlight through the open cellar door. She has come, as she always does, to inflict some fresh hell on him. But every ounce of suffering is worth it as long as Belle is safe. He will obey._

_He squints up at the shadowy figure backlit by the morning sun. He can only just make it out, but he doesn't think it's Zelena. The figure is too small._

_"Rumple," Belle cries, and his blood turns to ice in his veins. "What has she done to you?"_

_She sprints down the cellar steps, clinging to the wire door of his cage._

_She is so beautiful. Her cheeks are pink from the cold air, her eyes shining in spite of her tears. Her bottom lip trembles, a lip he has kissed a thousand times and longs to again. But no, he cannot think of that. Not now._

_"Go away," he says harshly. "You can't be here."_

_"I've come to rescue you," Belle says with a tremulous smile._

_Rumple closes his eyes at the image. Belle has always been his hero. Here she is attempting it again._

_"No," his voice is ragged as he shakes his head. "She'll make me hurt you. You have to leave."_

_Belle fiddles with the padlock on his cage door, opening it with ease. It is not the cage that keeps him here._

_She throws open the door, holding out a gloved hand to him. He longs to take it, but he knows he can't._

_"Come with me," she pleads. "Come with me and we can be together. Forever."_

_Rumple just shakes his head, pressing back further into his cage. He is terrified, not for himself but for Belle. If Zelena finds her here, this will not end well. Belle must be kept safe._

_"Take my hand, Rumple," she continues, stretching her arm out toward him. "Believe in us. Believe in our love."_

_But he doesn't. Love is not more powerful than the dagger. He is the Dark One and he is compelled by only one thing._

_"Oh come on _Rumple,_" comes a sneering voice from behind them, dripping with disdain. "Believe in love."_

_Both he and Belle spin around to see Zelena emerge from the darkness, the dagger clasped lightly in one hand._

_"Or do you only believe in_ this_?" She holds up the dagger, his name gleaming against the blade. Rumple is forced to his feet, unable to resist the silent command._

_Belle looks at the witch with open hostility, her eyes shining fiercely, chest heaving. _

_"He doesn't answer to you."_

_"Oh, I'm afraid he does," Zelena smirks. "You see, your little _true love _is nothing in the face of this dagger."_

_"That's not true," Belle counters through gritted teeth. "True Love is the most powerful magic of all._

_"Really?" Zelena cackles, tossing the dagger back and forth between her hands as if it is nothing. "Well lets put that theory to the test, shall we? Kill her."_

_She says the last part almost as an afterthought, but the words cut through Rumplestiltskin. He feels the compulsion of the dagger, feels the magic flow through him, forcing his limbs to move against his will. _

_"Rumple," Belle whimpers, her eyes wide and filled with tears. "You can fight this. I believe in you." _

_He wishes he had Belle's faith. He wishes that faith mattered at all. But everything pales in the face of the dagger. He is the Dark One, and he must do its bidding._

_"No," he forces out, gritting his teeth against the pain that explodes through his head at the words. His refusal will be punished, and he can't hold out forever. "Run, Belle."_

_With a lazy flick of her wrist Zelena seals the cellar door, the heavy wood slamming closed with a bang. She grabs Belle by the arm, hauling her to her side._

_"Now, Rumple," Zelena says, her eyes glinting madly in the dim light. "Be a good little pet and kill the bitch."_

_Rumple shakes his head, even as his legs take a jerky step forward. The pain in his head is compounding, the pressure building until it is nigh unbearable. But he will die before he lets this happen. He will not give in. _

_He takes another shaky step, sweat beading on his forehead in spite of the cold. If he were not compelled he thinks he might faint. He feels so weak, his legs shaking beneath him, his heart racing. And somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, his curse cries out to be sated. The curse wants Belle's blood. _

_His stomach heaves at that and he doubles over, only feet from Belle. _

_"Stop," Belle cries, pleadingly. But she isn't calling to him, she's looking at Zelena. "Can't you see you're hurting him?"_

_In spite of the pain ricocheting through his whole body he almost smiles. Isn't that just like Belle. He's been commanded to kill her and she's more worried for him than herself. _

_"For heaven's sake, Rumplestiltskin," Zelena cries, her eyes crazed. "I command you to tear out her heart!"_

_He looks down at his own arm in terror as it moves of its own accord, reaching out toward Belle's chest. His fingers jerk and spasm as he fights against the dagger, but he knows he cannot hold out forever. He could only give her time to run, and now there is nowhere for her to go. The resignation must show in his eyes because Belle gasps, tears slipping down her cheeks. _

_A look crosses her beautiful face, one that he has never caused before. Fear. Belle is afraid of him. _

_"Please, Rumple," she cries, her eyes wide and blue, so blue he could drown in them like the ocean. _

_His fingers slip past the barrier of her chest, gripping her heart. It thuds like a frightened rabbit's against his palm._

_"I'm so sorry," he sobs, the tears blurring his vision. "Belle, I'm so sorry."_

_He pulls the heart from her chest, his hand still shaking, more tears falling at the sound of Belle's agonized groan. _

_"I love you," she whispers. _

_Rumple looks down at the heart clutched in his fist. It is bright red, glowing with her goodness. There is not even a trace of darkness. This is so wrong._

I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead.

_"Do it!" Zelena screams, brandishing the dagger in his face. _

_"I love you too," he sobs as he squeezes. Belle drops like a stone._

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><p>Rumplestiltskin wakes up in a cold sweat.<p>

A dream. That's all it was. A nightmare. He didn't kill Belle. Zelena is long gone.

_Belle is alive. Belle is alive. Belle is alive._

He repeats his familiar mantra in his head as he bends over the side of the bed and retches. The nightmares have returned, it seems. Not completely unexpected, given his current circumstances. Dreams of the dagger overpowering his love for Belle have taken on a double meaning now. There is not just the left over fear from his enslavement. Now Belle thinks it's the truth, that he loves power more than her. He has no way to prove otherwise.

He cleans up the puddle of sick with a wave of his hand, sitting up and placing his head between his knees, trying to steady his breathing.

It was just a dream. Belle is fine. She is asleep across the hall in what was once their bedroom. She is fine.

Despite the assurances he tells himself, Rumple feels no peace. He is shaking, his breath coming in pants. Against his better judgment, he gets up. He has to see her. He just has to see her with his own two eyes, to make sure it was just a nightmare. He cannot lose her, not again.

His footsteps are stilted as he crosses the hall and stops before the closed bedroom door.

_She's fine, _he tells himself. But his own mind cannot be trusted. He must see for himself.

With a shaking hand, he pushes open the bedroom door, the breath rushing from him in relief when he sees Belle, beautiful and whole in the pale moonlight, sit up, clutching the covers to her chest.

"You're real," he gasps. "You're alive."

But just like the first time he uttered those words to her, he cannot trust his own eyes. He crosses the room quickly, reaching out to touch her shoulder. It is solid and warm beneath his hand.

He gives a little cry of relief, collapsing on the bed beside her and pulling her into his arms. He is sobbing, tears soaking in to Belle's hair where he clutches her to him, burying his face against her neck. She's real. He hasn't lost her. Zelena is dead.

"Rumple?" Belle says tremulously, her hand lightly stroking against his back.

Her words bring him back to himself and he jerks back, slightly embarrassed. He shouldn't be here. He promised himself, after that disaster in the kitchen, that he wouldn't force his presence on her. He would let her have her space. And here he is forcing himself into her bed in the dead of night.

He stumbles back, standing from the bed, but Belle reaches out a hand to grasp his.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her eyes wide.

"I - It's nothing. I had a nightmare. Silly."

Belle shakes her head. "It's not silly if it caused this reaction. What happened?"

He breathes a long sigh, looking down at his feet. He cannot look her in the eyes.

"I was back in that cage and Zelena forced me to...she made me kill you," it is an effort to force the words out. "I'm sorry, Belle. I shouldn't have come in here. I've no right. I'll..."

He motions to the open door behind him, moving to leave the room. But Belle's hand tightens around his.

"Will you stay?" she asks, tears filling her eyes.

He's at a loss for words. They've barely spoken to each other in these long weeks. They've barely looked at each other. It's been a pain unlike anything Rumple has ever felt to have her so near and yet so far from his grasp. He's wanted to come to this room every night, just to hold her and tell her he loves her. But he's lost the right to do that.

"Belle, I..."

"Just to sleep," she interrupts, blushing slightly.

He nods, allowing her to pull him back to the bed. He slides in between the covers next to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, their heads cushioned on the same pillow. It feels so familiar. So right.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," Belle whispers in the dark. It is easier to talk when they aren't facing each other. "I don't think I ever realized..."

"It's alright," Rumple assures her, pressing a light kiss to her hair. It's not alright. There's very little that will ever be alright again. But it makes no sense to say so.

"We'll find a way," she says after a moment. "I'll help you find a way to break the dagger's control. No one should have that power over you, especially not me."

He holds her tighter, this woman he loves. He'd been so afraid she'd want to take away his power, wouldn't understand his need for it, that he never thought to confide in her. It had been a mistake. Belle has always understood him, better than he even understands himself.

And here, in the darkness, with Belle in his arms, he can finally admit the truth, even to himself.

"I don't want to be the Dark One anymore."

Belle rolls over in his arms, burying her face against his chest and hugging him tightly.

"I know."

For the first time in centuries, Rumplestiltskin thinks that maybe Happy Endings are possible after all.


End file.
